Hat
by RevisedRevision
Summary: Tamaki finds a memento of the Host Club in his boxes.


**Hat**

"Where do you want this last box, sir?" The thick, burly movers had diligently moved in thirty or so boxes today non-stop, and this was the last one in their truck. Tamaki waltzed over, one hand holding a clock he'd fished out from one of the many cardboard containers laying around on the floor. He peeked under the open flaps, his face turning somber. "I'll take this one. Thank you. Feel free to help yourselves to the drinks in the fridge." Setting down the clock, Tamaki brushed blonde fringe away from his violet eyes as he took hold of the heavy box. He sat on the dusty floor with his legs stretched out and the box between the lanky limbs, carefully running his fingers over the surfaces of the objects inside. After a few minutes, the movers left, leaving him alone in his new apartment.

The walls of the living room were frightfully bare and an off-white, just like the two bedrooms and bathroom, and the floors were a well-worn and varnished dark cherrywood. The curtains were drawn open, but with it being closer to winter, the sun was sinking into the city skyline and the sky turned a darker and more dismal shade of purple with each passing half hour. There was no furniture set up except for his bed, a small folding table, and his favorite coffee-maker in the kitchen, if you could call it furniture. Tamaki felt ever so alone, caressing the items in the box. There were dozens of little trinkets and mementos from his last years at Ouran, many of which came from the happenings of the Host Club. He smiled fondly at the mechanical pencil he'd _'borrowed'_ from Haruhi, his beloved Haruhi. More than half of the things he was staring at belonged to her. Well, they **had** belonged to her. Then there were things from each of their outings, the jewelry from their 'Bali' adventure, sea shells from their beach expedition, and countless other things that he'd kept carefully confined in that ridiculously entertaining 'bubble wrap'. There was one item laying crumpled at the bottom of the box, something blue and slightly dirty.

Pulling the tiny scrap of fabric out, Tamaki flicked his wrist and sent the tiny particles of dust flying. He reigned in the urge to sneeze, and focused his lavender eyes on the limp object in his hand. _'It's a hat. An infant's hat.'_ A wave of nostalgia hit him, and he scooted away from the boxes and the mess he'd made to settle in a less confined space. He remembered this hat. It'd been his when he was a child, and he'd hoped to eventually pass it on to his own children in the future. _'But I blew that chance, didn't I?'_ It was getting dark now, and his eyes had to continually adjust to the bleak darkness and shadows that encompassed him in his living room. He wasn't sure if it was the cold of the winter or the icy grip of guilt that chilled him to the bone. As he lay in bed, the night seemed to last forever.

----

Tamaki always loved the mornings. The warm sun was always like a blanket, similar to the ones he always kicked off the side of his bed in the middle of the night. When he'd lived in Suoh Mansion Two, it had been perfect during Spring and Summer. He'd get up at seven, when the sun started to peek in through his spotless glass windows, just laying on his sheets. There was a...well, it sounded a bit peculiar, but he couldn't find any other word that he could use. There was a magical moment that people experienced in the mornings, like they were in some other dimension of awareness, in the land between Dreams and Reality. The curtains billowed in the Spring and seemed to call to him, urging him to stay in bed and enjoy the warmth a few minutes longer. He'd always politely declined, of course, and rolled out of bed haphazardly.

Haruhi used to enjoy waking up like that, he remembered. After finishing up college, he had gathered his wits and asked her out on a real date. She smiled at him, and it was easily one of the most beautiful things he'd seen in his entire life. Her hair was longer then, as she'd grown it out during college, and framed her face like a waterfall of warm chocolate. Her eyes were as large and round as ever, clear oceans of hazel. She accepted, just like she did a thousand more times after that. Who knew that one night of uninhibited passion and fire could spiral out of control like that? The next month, she missed her cycle. They went to a doctor, who'd only confirmed what they already knew; she was pregnant.

She hadn't cried, hadn't yelled, hadn't done anything, really, except study for her bar exams. She still called him, went on dates with him, acted like nothing had happened. He'd tentatively ask her sometimes how she was feeling, and she'd always smile her happy smile and say that she felt fine. _'Haruhi's due date was June twenty second.'_ But she wasn't fine. She was sick; she was hurting, and neither one of them knew.

The stomach cancer hadn't shown itself until the last term of her pregnancy, when it was already too late. She'd been living with it unknowingly for years, and how she survived that long was a miracle. She left painlessly, though he wasn't sure exactly how. The baby had gone with her, and he hadn't shed a tear at the funeral, though everyone else had. Hikaru and Kaoru had designed the clothes she was buried in, as well as some baby clothes that were put in the coffin with her. Kyoya had made all the arrangements, conferring and paying with Tamaki for the extravagant funeral. There weren't lots of decorations or anything like that, but there had been one ton of flowers, mostly white roses, that literally buried everyone in the small park for Haruhi that day. Hani-sempai and Mori-sempai had helped with security, and even Renge had contributed to the funeral, solemnly asking him what kind of arrangements she could help make.

Haruhi had touched hundreds of people, and they had all gathered in that small park, remembering her. Tamaki had given the eulogy, as nobody else could find the strength to do anything but cry. He vaguely remembered what he'd said then, but most of his bodily functions had been mechanical, and the words spewing out of his mouth had meant everything, but nothing at the same time.

Tamaki got up from his bed and looked at the thick curtains that hung stock still against the window. The blue baby hat rested on the window sill, staring out at the frosty winter. He pulled up the window and held the hat out, watching the wind whisk it away.

Some things were better left behind.


End file.
